Beneath the Crimson Ash

Introduction:

Beneath the Crimson Ash

**Year 2046**

The year is 2046, the hiss of escaping steam echoed through the dark, metallic chamber as Radon Sykes leaned back, wincing as the wiring in his chest shorted again. The dim light of the underground outpost flickered, casting long shadows across the rusted walls. He was halfway through his daily repairs, seated at a makeshift workbench cluttered with scrap parts and worn-out tools.

His reflection in the dull metallic surface of a discarded panel caught his attention—dark eyes rimmed with exhaustion; his jawline lined with faint silver veins where his human flesh met artificial augmentation. He absently brushed his hand over the processor embedded in his chest, its faint glow pulsing erratically.

Radon,21 years of age, was lost in his thoughts, clearly worried about the journey ahead, as he adjusted the wiring in his failing actuator. Sparks leapt from the exposed cables, illuminating his grimy hands and the shadowed hollows of his face. He gritted his teeth, focusing on the task at hand, even as his core processor sent sharp pulses of pain down his spine.

The underground outpost where Radon lived was a maze of rusting pipes, crumbling walls, and flickering lights. A relic of humanity’s past, it now served as a sanctuary for the last remnants of the Biomeka—those like him, hybrids neither fully human nor machine.

Radon tugged on a metal panel, revealing the faint glow of his core processor embedded in his chest. The light flickered weakly, a cruel reminder of his deteriorating condition. He muttered under his breath, “Not much time left.”

He had always lived in the shadows, both figuratively and literally. Born to a fallen marine, who was an avenger of Giliath. Captain Nexara Voss, his father had fought in the wars against the Eidolon Rite, and although his squadrons managed to advance the war beyond the barracks. Which are now littered with extreme “EMR” (Electro-Magnetic Radiation) and frequent solar flares. His father didn’t manage to watch him grow and develop into a lieutenant, as he succumbed to his wounds, a few months post the war.

Radon carried the weight of his father’s unfinished vengeance. His augmentations were the results of trying to follow-up on his father’s footsteps, before finding out the hard way of why it is best to choose a path of your own with guidance from the wise. His Armor, once cutting-edge technology, were now relics in a world where resources had dwindled to dust.

A sharp beep from the corner of the room snapped him out of his thoughts. A small scavenger drone, no larger than his hand, hovered near him. Its single red eye blinked erratically as it transmitted a faint signal. Radon frowned and adjusted the receiver on his wrist.

The signal was fragmented, but the message was clear: a core processor upgrade, was urgently needed if he was planning to last long enough to face the challenge of heading back to the remnants of his long-lost clan, in a city of ruins down town from where he was currently situated.

**LOCATION**

The Ruins of Solara Prime:

Deep In Eidolon Territory

Radon stared at the flickering holographic map projected by the drone. It was suicide. The Eidolon Rite patrolled the surface with ruthless efficiency, eliminating anything they deemed a threat. But without the upgrade, his body would fail within weeks, maybe days.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind: “A true soldier dies fighting, not waiting for the end.”

Radon clenched his fist. “Guess I’m dying on my feet, then.”

The steady whir of a cooling fan was the only sound in the dimly lit chamber as Radon worked on his failing core processor. He was hunched over a cluttered workbench in the depths of an abandoned outpost, a relic of a time long past. The red glow of the failing processor reflected off his pale, sweat-slicked face, casting deep shadows on the scarred metal walls around him.

The room smelled of scorched circuitry and old grease, a scent that had become part of his life. Radon’s hands, one human and the other a crude mechanical replacement, worked with frantic precision, stripping wires and soldering connections. Each movement sent sparks flying, tiny flares of light in the oppressive gloom.

He gritted his teeth as another jolt of pain shot through his body. The processor embedded in his chest—the lifeline that kept his bionic components functioning—was deteriorating faster than he had anticipated. Without it, his augmented body would seize up, leaving him immobile and vulnerable in a world that showed no mercy to the weak.

“Damn it,” he muttered, slamming a fist onto the workbench. A few loose components rattled onto the floor.

From the corner of the room, a voice interrupted his thoughts, cutting through the deafening silence.

“Breaking your tools won’t fix your problems, Radon. —

You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Radon turned sharply to see Karys, her petite frame leaning casually against the doorway. Her raven-black hair, braided and adorned with scavenged charms, framed sharp green eyes that always seemed to see through him. Karys was Biomeka like him, but far more integrated with her machine side. Her cybernetic arm, smooth and sleek, whirred as she crossed her arms. Her cybernetic arm glinted faintly in the low light, its sleek design a sharp contrast to the worn and battered augmentations Radon bore. Her piercing green eyes met his with a mixture of amusement and concern.

“What do you want, Karys?” Radon asked, his voice edged with irritation.

“Relax, I’m not here to lecture you.” She stepped into the room, her boots making soft thuds against the grated floor. “But you’ve been at this for hours. You look like you’re about to short-circuit yourself.”

“Not much choice,” Radon replied, gesturing at the worn panel in his lap. “This processor won’t last another week. It’s either fix it or…”

“Or the Eidolon Rite finds you,” Karys finished. She walked over, her steps light but purposeful. “If you’d stop pushing everyone away, maybe you wouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Radon’s jaw tightened, as he snorted, turning back to his work. “Not now, Karys. I don’t have time to rest. This processor is all that’s keeping me going, and it’s on its last legs. If I don’t fix it…”

“You’ll die,” Karys finished, her tone softening. She walked over to his side, her gaze falling on the mess of wires and components scattered across the bench. “You always think you have to do everything on your own.”

Radon didn’t respond. He hated how well she could read him.

Karys picked up a small screwdriver and twirled it between her fingers. “You know, there’s talk of a cache in Solara Prime. Supposedly some ancient tech there, maybe even replacement processors.”

Radon shook his head. “Solara Prime’s a death-trap. The Rite patrols the ruins constantly. Anyone who goes near them either ends up dead or enslaved.”

“And staying down here, waiting for your body to shut down, is a better plan?” Karys asked, arching an eyebrow.

Radon sighed, his shoulders slumping. He hated that she was right. “Why are you even here, Karys?”

She smirked. “Someone has to keep you alive. And besides…” She gestured at the faint red glow of his processor. “You’re not exactly in a position to argue.”

Before Radon could retort, a sharp but faint beep came from the corner of the room. Both of them turned toward the sound, where a small scavenger drone hovered toward them, before stopping in mid-flight and continued to hover in mid-air, as if suspended in limbo. Its single red eye flickered, blinking in different universal color shades as it projected a holographic map onto the wall.

“What’s this?” Karys asked, stepping closer to the open edge and leaning forward to get a better peak at the far coast, since their location seemed to have been compromised.

Radon frowned, his eyes scanning the map. It showed the desolate wasteland surrounding the outpost, marked with a glowing waypoint deep within the ruins of Solara Prime.

“It’s a signal,” he said slowly. “A distress beacon, maybe. Or a trap.”

Karys crossed her arms. “Or a chance to fix that processor of yours.”

Radon’s expression darkened. “A signal. Solara Prime. Core processor upgrade.”

Karys raised an eyebrow. “You’re not seriously considering it.”

“It’s my only option,” Radon replied.

Radon stared at the map, the faint hum of the drone filling the silence. He knew the risks. Solara Prime was crawling with the Eidolon Rite, the machine race that ruled with an iron grip. They were relentless, merciless, and far superior to any Biomeka or Sophont.

But he also knew Karys was right. If he stayed here, his body would fail him, and it wouldn’t be long before the Rite found him anyway.

Karys studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. If you’re going, you’re not going alone. You’ll need someone who actually knows how to deal with the Rite if they show up.”

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice heavy with resignation. “We’ll go. But we stick to the shadows. No unnecessary risks.”

Karys grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

Radon hesitated but nodded. “Alright. We leave at first light.”

He rose from his seat, his movements stiff and jerky as his failing processor struggled to keep up. He grabbed a small pack from the corner of the room, stuffing it with tools and spare parts.

As they prepared to leave, Karys glanced at him. “You’re not planning to face the Rite on your own, are you?”

Radon shot her a wry smile. “You volunteered, remember?”

The two of them stepped out of the chamber and into the tunnel leading to the surface. The faint rumble of machinery echoed in the distance, a reminder of the world they were about to face.

“Radon,” Karys said quietly as they walked.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get yourself killed out there.”

Radon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said it all.

Above them, the crimson sky awaited.